Co-authored by Aimee Frazier and Shauni Bernau
Recently, I (Aimee) returned from a mountaineering expedition in the Olympic Mountains. Aside from a brief fall into a glacier crevasse, it was a fun and awe-inspiring trip.
It wasn’t the steep, technical snow or even my dreaded 45-pound pack that was the biggest challenge for me—it was the return home. When I returned to civilization and cell phone service, I felt totally overwhelmed. My phone had exploded with hundreds of text messages, enormous inbox alerts, and an immense pressure to jump right back into checking items off of the to-do list.
It was as if the experience had expanded me in some ways that made it difficult, and frankly a bit unappealing, to fit back into my regular life. It was a familiar feeling—one that I had experienced after other big adventures outdoors. As I processed it, I quickly realized I wasn’t the only one who’d felt this shock to the system after an outdoor adventure.
Stepping outside of our usual roles and routines can change how we see ourselves and bring clarity to what we value most in life. We often return with more than just stories to tell. We may also begin to question the parts of life that we step back into, as the person who returns from a trip no longer seems to fit comfortably into the life that they had previously built.
Shauni Bernau, a writer who thru-hiked the Pacific Crest Trail, experienced this on an even larger scale.
“I Wasn’t Just Struggling to Return to My Old Life. I Was Questioning It”
In 2025, I (Shauni) hiked 2,000 miles on the Pacific Crest Trail. I lived in the wilderness for five months, and returning home was a shock to the system, to say the least. For 146 days, I was free of many of the obligations, expectations, and constant noise of ordinary life. The only thing I had to do was walk and think about where I would find and filter water and figure out where I would sleep.
And then I came home. I wasn’t just struggling to return to my old life. I was questioning it. Almost overnight, life dragged me back into a thousand obligations, constant noise, daily decisions, and a sense of trying to keep up with endless demands. After months of near-silence, the noise back home seemed to have increased tenfold.
I felt myself falling back into the trap of everything needing to be faster and better. I became overwhelmed by the number of notifications on my phone and the daily “could we just circle back to this” emails at work. The trail had shown me another way of living, and the realization that my old life no longer aligned with my values.
On the trail, life was simpler, and I could just exist. Back home, I found myself going for walks and meditating partly to counterbalance the demands of everyday life. Thru-hiking had shown me the possibility of a different life—one that was slower and more mindful. Nothing about my life had dramatically changed while I was gone. But I had. I was returning to a culture I could suddenly see from the outside. And once you’ve experienced a drastically different way of living, it can be difficult to forget that it exists.
Before the trail, I tied much of my self-worth to productivity. I thought I was put on this earth to work as much as possible, to always be busy, and to surround myself with people who saw ambition as one of the highest virtues. But the trail challenged my idea of what a life well lived could look like. I found more meaning in spending time with loved ones, returning to childhood hobbies, and spending my days outside. I wanted to enjoy the little time we’re given on this earth. Because, as I finally realized, wanting to be happy is also an ambition.
When Adventure Changes the Self
Post-adventure depression is a common way of describing the emotional crash that can follow a major adventure. But something more complicated is taking place beneath the surface. Adventure experiences can change how we understand ourselves, as well as the lives we return to. Recent research regarding outdoor adventure suggests that experiences where we are immersed in nature can significantly influence people’s identities, influencing the way they understand themselves and who they wish to become (Froehly et al., 2025).
This process can be deeply existential. Our identities are shaped in part by our roles, relationships, environments, and the stories we tell about ourselves. A long, challenging wilderness experience can disrupt and re-organize an identity very quickly.
As Shauni experienced, extended time in the wilderness can strip away many of the structures that reinforce our identities. There are not many status markers outdoors. Your job title doesn’t help you find and filter water. Your salary can’t buy you a shortcut over a mountain pass. The way you dress and the size of your house suddenly become irrelevant.
Simultaneously, other parts of the self have room to emerge. We often discover that we are more capable than we thought, or learn that we can tolerate a large dose of physical challenge. We might even begin to step outside of constrictive cultural messages. And we may discover our sensory preferences—noticing that we feel better with less noise, more simplicity, more movement, or more time outside.
All of this new information that we gather about ourselves in the wilderness can lead to identity expansion. As both Shauni and I experienced, returning home can create an uncomfortable mismatch: We return changed, but the lives we left behind are the same. We are trying to fit a new understanding of ourselves into a life built around who we used to be.
The challenge of coming home, then, is not just about readjusting to daily life. It is also about navigating what to do with the person that you expanded into while you were away. Integrating what the experience taught you has value. And this is where post-adventure readjustment can become existential.
Instead of simply asking, How do I get used to being home again? We might ask: What actually matters to me now? Does the way I spend my time reflect what I now value? What parts of myself emerged out there that I want to hold onto? And how do I make room for that person here?
Of course, not every wilderness revelation means quitting your job or abandoning civilization. Nor should we romanticize the wilderness as the only place where an authentic or meaningful life is possible—that would not be sustainable or realistic. The goal of returning home may be much more subtle: to notice what the experience revealed about who you are and what you value now, and make room for those discoveries in everyday life. The goal is to let the person who came home have a say in what happens next.
About Shauni Bernau. After recovering from burnout, Shauni picked up an old childhood hobby and started hiking again. She found new meaning on the trail, and now tries to inspire other people to find meaning outside of the conventional paths in life.
